The Great Glass Pimple

Although I've been thoroughly enjoying reading all the 19th century novels I cliff-noted back in high school, I am, after all, living in Paris.  City of myth, legend and over 100 museums.  So on beautiful days like today, the Count of Monte Cristo (I finished Jane Eyre a few days ago) get stuffed into my purse so that I can go in search of more scenic places to read than my humble abode.

Over the weekend, AH found that I, being under 26, can get a year pass to the Louvre for a mere 15 euros.  (He, having just had a birthday, no longer even qualifies for the 26-30 pass.  It is a sore subject in these parts).  So today the Count and I made our way over to the Musee Orsay stop of the RER C and trekked across the Seine.  Much like the Pantheon, the Louvre is hard to miss and thus easy to get to.  Living here makes me feel much better about my dubious history of navigation; it wasn't that I was directionally challenged, I just didn't have enough gigantic landmarks to keep me pointed in the right direction.  Next time I'm trying to find my way around downtown Columbus, I would like a giant castle to reassure me that I'm going in the right direction. Or giant cow.  Whatever.  Someone get on that.

So after walking the distance of what seems like several football fields, I arrive at the controversial I.M. Pei glass pyramid.  The line is short, and I see no crowd inside.  I am (fatally) pleased with my good luck.  However, unbeknownst to ignorant American me, the pyramid is like the top of a really nasty pimple where all the interesting stuff if lurking deep below the surface.  So after having my bag and coat run through security, I go down the escalators and discover the vast and intricate lobby to the Louvre.  (Honestly, I'm exhausted and confused looking at the GD LOBBY.  This is why I need a year pass- it will take me that long just to find the toilets.  And mom and dad, if you think we're doing the Louvre in one morning, you might want to reassess that plan).

I decide to try the information desk first.  And, as I assume (again, fatally) that this is going to be a simple interaction, I decide to try my French.

Me: Je voudrais acheter un carte jeune.

Info Desk Guy: FrenchFrenchFrenchFrencyFrenchFrench.

Me: Pardon?

IDG: FrenchFrenchyFrench.

Me: Uh...Je ne compris pas...

IDG: (Haltingly) There is an office for this...it is closed.

Me:  When will it be open?

IDG:  Tomorrow?  Maybe?

Me: Le sigh.

Well, at least I know what to expect now for when I go, AGAIN, to the Louvre tomorrow.  

I decide to make sure that my trip is not wasted, and thus I resolve to find a nice spot in the sculpture garden to sit and read my book.  After being redirected by the security guards around a mysterious abandoned back-pack (which had me on edge after recent events in Spokane), I hastened to find a spot around a fountain where children were pushing sailboats around with little punting sticks.  I passed a pleasant half hour here reading my book and marveling that none of the children had yet thought to crack each other on the heads with their sticks (or were too scared to try it).

To finish off my time around the Louvre, I decided to go up in what I had assumed was the Paris equivalent of the London Eye.  To clarify, the London Eye is a giant ferris wheel-like attraction, but instead of sitting in buckets, it's more like you're in a glass-enclosed room that happens to be rotating about, so there's none of that unpleasant rocking about business.  Having suggested to AH many times that we do this and being consistently rebuffed, I decided to just go myself and not subject him to something he wasn't interested in.  My decision to ride sans AH was justified when I saw the 10 euro price tag.

After I parted from my 10 euro bill, I took a good look at the seating.  To my chagrin, these were not the clean, comfortable observation rooms of the London Eye.  These were county fair ferris wheel buckets surrounded by plexi-glass.  And so, reader, your good friend Allison paid 10 euros to pitch about Lord knows how many stories above Paris in abject terror, clinging to the little handle bars and trying to appreciate the view (which was, indeed, beautiful).  

Allison Thought Bubble through this experience: Sacre Coeur, oh, there's the Arc de Triomphe, Oh God, I'm going to die in this thing, wow, there are a lot of domes around here, wonder which one is the Pantheon, I think my heart is going to break my ribcage, I can never look at the "Eiffel Tower" at King's Island again without disgust, oh Lord, that RUSTY SQUEAKING SOUND IS NOT COMFORTING....

But I lived.  I made it down the glass pimple and I lived through a ferris wheel ride.  Wonders will never cease.